University of Virginia Library

THE FIFTE ACTE.

THESEVS.
PHÆDRA. CHORVS.
Through pierst with pangues of pensiuenesse what fury prickes thy brayne?
What meanes this bloudy blade? what meanes this shriking out amayne?
And langishing vpon the Corps which was thy mallice made?

PH.
O tamer of the wrastling waues mee, mee, doe thou inuade.
The Monstrous hags of Marble Seas to rampe on mee send out,
What euer Thetis low doth keepe with folding armes about,
Or what the Ocean Seas aloefe embrace with winding waue:
O Theseus that to thine alies dost still thy selfe behaue
So Currishly, O thou that for thy louing Friends auayle
Dost neuer yet returne: thy Sonne and Father doe bewayle
Thy pasport brought by death, and blood, thy stooke thou dost destroy,
By loue or hatred of thy wife thou workest still annoy:
O sweete Hippolytus thus I behold thy battred face,
And I it is, I wretch (alas) that brought thee to this case,
What Scinis forst thy lims so torne his snatching boughes to feele?
Or what Procrustes rackt and rent thee streacht on bed of Steele?
Or else what Minotaur of Crete that grim twishaped Bull
With horny head (that Dedalls dennes with louing filleth full)
Hath thee in fitters torne? (aie me) where is thy beauty fled?
Where are our twinckling stars thine eyes? alas and art thou ded?
Appeare a while, receiue my words, for speake I shall none yll:
This hand shal strike the stroake, wherwith thy vengeance quite I wil.
And sith that I, I Cavife, I, abridged haue thy life,
Lo here I am content, to yeelde thee mine with bloudy knife.
If ghost may here be giuen for ghost, and breath may serue for breath,
Hippolytus take thou my soule, and come againe from death.
Behold my bowels yet are safe my lims in lusty plight,
Would God that as they serue for me, thy body serue they might,
Mine eies to render kindly light vnto thy Carkasse ded,
Lo for thy vse this hand of mine shall pluck them from my hed,
And set them in these empty cells and vacant holes of thine.
Thy weale of me a wicked Wight to win, do not repine.
And if a womans wofull heart in place of thine may rest,
My bosom straight breake vp I shall, and teare it from my brest.
But courage stout of thine doth loth faint womans heart to haue
Thy Noble minde would rather go with manly heart to graue.
Alas be not so manly now, this manlinesse forbeare,
And rather choose to liue a man with womans sprite and feare,
Then as no man with manly heart in darcknesse deepe to sit:
Haue thou thy life, giue me thy death that more deserueth it.
Can not my profer purchase place: yet vengeance shal thou haue,
Hell shall not hold me from thy syde nor death of dompish graue.
Sith fates wil not permit thee life, though I behest thee mine,
My selfe I shall in spite of fate my fatall twist vntwine.
This blade shall riue my bloudy breast, my selfe, I will dispoile
Of soule, and sinne at once: through floods and Tartar gulphes yt boyle,
Through Styx and through the burning Lakes I wil come after thee:
Thus may we please the lowring shades, receiue thou heere of mee
The parings of my Poll and Locks cut off from forehead torne,
Our hearts we could not ioyne in one, yet wretches now forlorne
We shal togeather in one day our fatall hower close:
If thou be loyall to thy spouse, for him thy life then lose:
But if thou be vncestuous, dye for thy louers sake.
Shall I vnto my husbandes bed agayne my corps betake,
Polluted with so haynous crime? O death the chiefest ioy
Of wounding shame: Death onely ease of stinging Loues annoy:
We runne to thee: embrace our a sowles within thy gladsome breast:
Harke Athens, harke vnto my talke, and thou aboue the reste,
Thou Father worse vnto thy Child than bloudy stepdame I.
False forged tales I told with shame, I fayning that did lye,
Which I of spite imagined, when raging breast did swarue:
Thou father falsly punisht hast him that did not deserue.
The youngman chast is cast away for myne vncestuous vice,
Both bashful he and guiltles was, now play thy wonted guyse.
My guilty breast with bloudy Launce of Sword deseru'd is riuen,
The Dirge to th' dead to purge my spouse shal with my bloud be geuen.
Thou father of the stepdame learne, what things thy Sōne should haue
Of life depriued, as to lay his carkasse in a graue.

Th.
O wanny Iawes of blacke Auerne, take Tartar dungeon grim,
O Lethes Lake of woful Soules the ioy that therein swimme,
And eake ye glummy Gulphes destroy, destroy me wicked wight
And stil in pit of pangues let me be plunged day and night.
Now, now, come vp ye Goblins grim from water creekes alow,
What euer Proteus hugie swolue aloofe doth ouerflow,
Come dowse me drownd in swallowes depe, that triumphe in my sinne:
And father thou that euermore ful ready prest hath binne
To wreake myne yre, aduentring I a deede deseruing death
With new found slaughter haue bereft myne onely Sonne of breath.
His tattred lims I scatred haue the bloudy field about,
Whyle th'innocent I punish doe, by chaunce I haue found out:
The truth of al this wickednes: heauen, starres, and sprites of hell
I pester with my treachery that me doth ouerquell.
No mischiefes hap remayneth more: iii. kingdomes know mee well:
We are returned to this World. For this did Hell vnfold
His gates that burials twayne I might and double death beholde?
Wherby I both a wyueles Wight and eake a Sonles Sire,
May with one brand to wyfe and Sonne enflame the funeral fire.
O dancer of blackefaced light Alcides, now restore
Thy booty brought from Hel, redeeme to mee, to mee therfore
These Ghostes that now be gone, ah sinful wretch to death in vayne
I sue, most vndiscrete by whom these wretched Wightes were slayne.
Imagining destruction sore aboute it wil I goe,
Now with thyne owne handes on thy selfe due vengeance do bestow:
A Pine tree bough downe straind perforce vnto the ground alow,
Let slip into the open ayre shal cut my corpes in twayne.
From top of Scyrons Rockes I wil be tumbled downe amayne.
More grieuous vengeance yet I haue in Phlegethon Riuer found,
Tormenting guilty Ghostes enclosd with fiery Channel round.
What pit and pangues shal plunge my soule already haue I known,
That tyring toyle of Sisyphus that retchles rolling stone,
Let yeeld vnto my guilty Ghost, and beyng layed on
These shoulders, these, these lifting handes of myne downe let it sway:
And let the fleeting floud aboute my lips deluded play.
Yea let the rauening grype come heare and Tytius paunch forsake,
For glutting foode with grasping Cleaze my liuer let him take,
Encreasyng stil to feede the Foule, and for my tormentes sake.
And pause thou my Pyrothous Syre, and eke the snackle Wheele
That whirleth stil enforce my limmes thy swinging swift to feele.
Gape, gape, thou ground and swallow me thou cruell Chaos blynd,
This passage to thinfernall Sprightes is fit for me to find:
My Sonne I wil ensue, thou Prince of gastly ghostes in hell,
Dread not for chast wee come to thee: geue thou me leaue to dwell
Among thy dreadful dennes for aye, and not to passe agayne.
Alas, my prayer at the Gods no fauour can obtayne,
But if that mischiefe craue I should how ready would they bee?

Ch.
O Theseus to thy plaint eternall tyme is graunted thee:
Prouyde thy Sonne his Obit rytes, and shroude in dompish graue
His broken lims, which Monsters foule disperst and scattered haue.

Th.
The shreadings of this deare beloued carkasse bring to mee,
His mangled members hether bring on heapes that tombled be:
This is Hyppolytus, I do acknowledge myne offence,
For I it is, that haue depriued thee of life and sense.
Least that but once, or onely I should be a guilty Wight,
I Sire attempting mischiefe haue besought my Fathers might.
Lo I enioy my fathers gift, O solitarinesse,
A grieuous plague when feeble yeares haue brought vs to distresse,
Embrace these lims, and that which yet doth of thy sonne remayne,
O woeful wight in baleful breast preserue and entertayne.
These scattred scraps of body torne O Syre in order fet,
The straying gobbetts bring agayne, here was his right hand set:
His left hand here instructed well to rule the raynes must be.
His left syde rybbs (ful wel I know to be bewayld of mee
With bitter teares) as yet alas are lost and wanting still,
O trembling handes behold this woful busines to fulfil,
And withered Cheekes forbid your streams of flowing tears to runne
Whyle that the father do accompt the members of his Sonne.
And eke patch vp his body rent, that hath his fashion lost,
Disfigured foule with gorye woundes, and all about betost:
I doubt, if this of thee be peece, and peece it is of thee:
Here, lay it here, in th'empty place, here let it layed be,
Although perhap it lye not right: (aye me) is this thy face?
Whose beauty twinckled as a starre, and eake did purchase grace,
In sight of Foe procurd to ruth. Is this thy beauty lost?
O cruell will of Gods, O rage in sinne preuayling most.
Doth thus the Syre that great good turne perfourme vnto his sonne?
Lo let thy fathers last farewel within thyne eares to runne,
My child whom oft I bid farewell: the whilst the fire shall burne
These bones, set ope his buriall bower, and let vs fall to mourne
With loude lamenting Mopsus wise for both the coarses sake:
With Princely Pompe his funerall fire see that ye ready make.
And seeke ye vp the broken parts in field dispersed round,
Stop hir vp hurlde into a Pit, let heauy clodds of ground
lie hard vpon hir cursed hed.